L'amour
by Mornwey
Summary: The new student at South Park high is strangely familiar. ChristopheKyle slash
1. Qu'est cette il?

**L'amour**

**Summary: The new student at South Park High is strangely familiar…**

**Fandom: South Park**

**Pairings: Christophe/Kyle, Stan/Wendy, Damien/Pip, Kenny/Various (He's such a slut)**

**Warnings: Slash, bad language**

**Disclaimer: I'd sell my soul to own them (Especially Christophe – damn that sexy French accent!). However, since no-one seems to want to buy my soul, I'll settle for slashing them**

**Author's Note: My French is a little rusty, and I don't have anyone to beta it for me. Feel free to point out any mistakes I've made**

**Chapter 1 – Qu'est-cette il?**

"Class, we have a new student today."

The bored class perked up at the prospect of a little entertainment. Of course, a new student was interesting enough until you got to know him/her/it, but seeing the famously ill-tempered Mrs. Carmichael tear into them was always good for a laugh. Right now, she looked supremely pissed-off that her lesson was being disrupted by a new arrival. In the back row, Stan Marsh smirked at his best friend Kyle, and they both straightened in their seats to get a good view.

The boy that stood by the doorway had a deep tan, and spiky dark hair that stood up untidily in all directions. He was probably about seventeen, although his eyes were those of someone far older. They seemed to change colour as the light hit them, one moment dark, deep brown, the next a glowing honey colour. He was dressed scruffily in battered black jeans, a faded dark green t-shirt and black leather biker gloves…the kind with the strap on the back and the fingers cut out. Scars were clearly visible on his skin, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He wasn't particularly tall, but he wasn't short either, and from what could be seen beneath the overlarge t-shirt, he was slim but well-muscled. Wendy whispered something to Bebe, who giggled.

"Who is he?" Kyle asked Stan quietly; "He looks familiar…"

"This is Christophe DeLorne," Mrs. Carmichael said, "He's from France. Do you speak French?"

"_Évidentment, femme imbécile. Je _suis_ français_. " He smirked at her blank look, "I speak French, _Madame_ - and English."

For Kyle, hearing that accent again brought back a sudden rush of memories that he thought he had buried: of a war some nine years previously, and a bleeding French boy dying in his arms. Could it be? Certainly he had changed, but once Kyle looked at the boy with that idea in mind, he realised that it _was_ the Mole – the young mercenary who had died in the war, savaged by guard dogs. Of course – it hadn't really registered with Kyle that the Mole would have been brought back too when Kenny's wish had changed the course of history.

He glanced over at the blonde boy, who never wore his hood any more. He had reappeared shortly after the end of the war, saying that angelic choirs weren't really his thing. Kyle had given up worrying about it long before – the guy had more lives than a cat.

"…take any free seat," Mrs. Carmichael was saying. She sounded a little disgruntled – she was certain she had been insulted, but she hadn't understood a word. Christophe's gaze swept the classroom, and he did the tiniest of double-takes as he saw Kyle. Their eyes met for a moment, and Kyle's stomach flipped over. _It must be delayed shock,_ the rational part of his brain advised, _the guy died in your arms – it's bound to be a bit weird seeing him again._ It didn't come up against any argument, as the rest of his brain seemed to be gently dissolving. Apart from the tiny part of his subconscious that replied slyly; _yes, but he wasn't this gorgeous nine years ago, was he?_ Christophe picked a seat in random and sank on to it. Mrs. Carmichael continued 'teaching'; happily oblivious to the fact that no-one was listening to her.

A note edged its way onto Kyle's desk. He glanced up at Stan, who nodded. He read the note:

You recognise him, right?

Of course I do! How could I not?

What the hell is he doing here?

Dunno.

He recognised you.

I know.

You look a bit freaked, dude…

I watched the guy die, Stan. It's a bit freaky for him to just walk in like that!

What about Kenny?

That's different. We're all used to that.

Suppose you're right.

It seemed to take forever for the lunch bell to ring, and Kyle couldn't stop his eyes from drifting to the scruffy French boy every time his mind wandered. When the bell finally did ring, Stan hurried off to meet Wendy, and Kyle walked slowly towards his locker, lost in thought. He pulled his math books out, staring at the covers without really seeing them. What was the Mole doing in South Park again? Why was he there?

Kyle was so preoccupied with his musings that he only just noticed the object of them pass by; "Hello, Mole." The mercenary didn't turn around, but he did stop.

"My name eez Christophe…Kyle."

"I _knew_ it was you. Why are you here?" Christophe turned around and smirked.

"Philosophy 'as never been my strong point, _mon ami_."

"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it."

"True. But I do not 'ave to answer your questions."

"But I think I have to ask them. And eventually you'll tell me just to shut me up."

Christophe lit a languid cigarette and blew out a thin stream of smoke before answering; "Ah, ze interrogation techniques of all ze world pale beside you. What do you want to know?"

"I thought I'd been pretty clear about that."

"I 'ave no ulterior motive. I live 'ere now, much to my distaste."

"But why _here_?"

"You would 'ave to ask my muzzer," he grimaced; "I wish you luck wiz zat, 'owever. Ze chances of 'er being 'ome are_ très petit_."

"You really have no reason for being here?"

"Uzzer zan a new 'ouse, _non_. And now I am leaving – I am sure your friends 'ave been waiting."

"Unlikely," Kyle replied with a trace of bitterness. Stan only had eyes for Wendy, Cartman couldn't care less about anything other than feeding his fat ass, and god only knew what random person Kenny would be tongue-wrestling with _this_ week.

"Well in any case, I am going. _Au revoir_."

Kyle watched Christophe walk away, trailing smoke. Some time had passed before it occurred to him to go and get his lunch.

_Qu'est-cette il?_ - Who is he?

_Évidentment, femme imbécile. Je _suis_ français_ - Obviously, stupid woman. I _am_ French.

_Mon ami_ – My friend

_Très petit_ – Very small

_Non_ - No

_Au revoir_ – Goodbye

**Author's Note: I was watching the movie again tonight, and I had a minor revelation – Christophe is left-handed. Okay, so it's not a big deal, but I can't believe it never registered before. When he takes a drag of his cigarette, he holds it in his left hand, and he holds the shovel left-handed too. **

**Okay, I'm done. You can stop pretending to care now.**


	2. Un amour de les motos

**L'amour**

**Summary: The new student at South Park High is strangely familiar…  
Fandom: South Park  
Pairings: Christophe/Kyle, Stan/Wendy, Damien/Pip, Kenny/Various (He's such a slut)  
Warnings: Slash, bad language  
Disclaimer: I'd sell my soul to own them (Especially Christophe – damn that sexy French accent!). However, since no-one seems to want to buy my soul, I'll settle for slashing them  
Author's Note: My French is a little rusty, and I don't have anyone to beta it for me. Feel free to point out any mistakes I've made**

**Chapter Two – Un amour de les motos**

Kyle took his usual seat on Stan's left when he reached the lunch hall. Stan gave a friendly enough hello before being distracted by Wendy, who sat on his right. Cartman grunted something unintelligible about fags around a mouthful of fries, but Kyle was too used to it to care. Kenny was nowhere to be seen. Doubtless he was engaged in another of his short-lived relationships. Whoever it was probably knew that they were just one in a long string of lovers that crossed the gender-line several times. Kyle gazed at the table, mind elsewhere.

"Dude, are you alright?" Kyle looked up, snapping out of his trance, and saw Stan looking at him in concern.  
"What? Oh…I'm okay."  
"Probably daydreaming about his boyfriend."  
"Shut up, fat boy!"  
"Don't call me fat, you fucking faggot!"  
"Both of you shut up!" Stan snapped. Wendy, used to this by now, hadn't even looked up from her lunch.

It was at this point that Kenny ambled in, accompanied by a pretty blonde girl that the others vaguely recognised but couldn't have put a name to. They kissed, then went off to sit with their separate groups of friends. It wasn't that Kenny was a bad boyfriend, Kyle mused. He wasn't jealous or demanding, and he was certainly very considerate. He just had a tendency to panic at the thought of commitment.

"Hey, guys," he said, sitting next to Cartman. Being right beside the fattest kid in South Park High only emphasized how small and malnourished he was. He was pale and slightly ill-looking; and when they changed for gym, every bone in his body was visible. He didn't have any lunch with him.

"Kyle?" Kyle looked up a little dazedly.  
"What?"  
"Are you sure you're alright, man?"  
"I…I'm just not hungry. Kenny, d'you want this?" Kenny wasn't proud or stupid enough to turn down free food.  
"What's the matter with you, you pussy?" Cartman said obnoxiously. Kyle didn't even seem to register the insult. He stood up.  
"I'm…gonna go get some fresh air." He wandered off; the table's other four occupants staring after him in amazement.  
"What was that all about?" Wendy said, bewildered.  
"Did I miss something?" Kenny asked.  
"I think we all did," Stan replied  
"What the hell is wrong with Jew-boy?"  
"Shut up, Cartman!" Stan, Kenny, and Wendy said in unison.

They had a math double-period after lunch, and Kyle seemed a little more normal by then. When the bell finally rang, everyone cleared out as quickly as possible.

"Where is everybody?" Kyle asked Stan.  
"Kenny's going to his girlfriend's place, Wendy's getting a lift home from Bebe, and god only knows where that asshole Cartman is. I've gotta go to football practice – and _you're _gonna miss the bus if you don't hurry up. Later, dude." He turned and hurried off in the direction of the locker rooms. Kyle headed towards the car park. He came round the corner of the building in time to see the bus pulling away.

"Shit!"

Right on cue, it began to rain. Silently cursing life, the universe, and everything, Kyle headed for the dubious shelter of the doorway, dreading the walk home. He could always hang around until Stan finished football practice and beg a lift home, but he didn't much like the thought of waiting aimlessly in the rain for hours. He wandered around the car park as a few stragglers pulled away, all cozy and dry in their nice, warm cars.

Bastards

He paused to admire a red and black motorbike standing alone near the back of the car park. Kyle would have loved a motorbike, but he was still having difficulties convincing his mother to let him drive a _car_. He shuddered to think what she would say if he let slip that he wanted a bike. Still, he could admire them from afar. This one in particular was a beauty, sleek and new-looking, and heavily customised by the look of it. He was so absorbed in the bike that he didn't hear the soft footsteps behind him.

"I 'ope you are not plotting to steal eet, _chéri_?"

Kyle spun around with what he would later refuse to admit was a girly shriek. Christophe smirked at him and blew out a cloud of smoke.

"I…um…no. Is this yours?"  
"_Oui_." He looked around the deserted car park; "'Ave you missed ze bus?"  
"No," Kyle replied sarcastically, "I'm standing in a school car park in the pouring rain for the fun of it."  
"Well, zat's alright zen."  
"I really like your bike," Kyle said, "I've always wanted one, but…"  
"But your muzzer eez a domineering control-freak?"  
"Hmm…yeah, that sounds about right."

Christophe finally gave up the battle to keep his bedraggled cigarette alight in the driving rain, and tossed it aside. He brushed the water off the bike and swung a leg over it, settling comfortably onto it. Kyle looked wistfully at the beautiful machine (and sternly reminded himself not to look wistfully at the beautiful Frenchman straddling it).

"'Ave you even rode one before?"  
"No."  
"Would you like to?"  
"What?"  
"Well, eet appears zat you need a ride 'ome anyway."  
"Really? I'd love to."  
"Where do you leeve?"

Kyle irritably silenced the part of his mind which pointed out the distinct lack of any helmets – it sounded worryingly like his mother – and briefly described the way to his house before settling cautiously onto the bike behind Christophe.

"You weel fall off eef you seat all ze way back zere, _chéri_."

Feeling deeply embarrassed for reasons he couldn't quite specify (and making a mental note to find out what 'chéri' meant), Kyle shifted a little closer.

"'Old on – I don't want to be responsible eef you get splattered all over ze road."

As the engine revved and they accelerated out of the car park, it became clear to Kyle why the warning had been necessary. He yelped and wrapped his arms around Christophe's waist as they turned the first corner. He didn't know how fast they were going, but was prepared to bet that it was over the speed limit. His hair – shoulder length, and just the right side of curly due to intensive styling – was whipped wildly around his head by the rising wind.

The bike wove suicidally in and out of rows of cars. The sounds of honking horns and bellowed curses followed them down the road. Kyle closed his eyes – he was terrified, freezing cold, and probably about to die. And he was loving every moment.

Chistophe brought the bike to a screeching halt a few blocks away from Kyle's house and allowed him to dismount before driving off again with a smirk and a cry of; 'don't tell your muzzer, _chéri_'. Kyle walked quickly to his house and let himself in the back door, then headed straight for the bookcases. He unearthed a particular volume after much searching and flicked through it until he found the required page. His eyes widened a little as he read it, then he grinned slowly:

_Cheri (masculine) - Darling_

_Un amour de les motos_ – A love of motorbikes (Approximately)  
_Chéri_ – Darling (According to my rather unreliable French-English dictionary)


	3. Tout le meme

**L'amour**

**Summary: The new student at South Park High is strangely familiar…  
Fandom: South Park  
Pairings: Christophe/Kyle, Stan/Wendy, Damien/Pip, Kenny/Various (He's such a slut)  
Warnings: Slash, bad language  
Disclaimer: I'd sell my soul to own them (Especially Christophe – damn that sexy French accent!). However, since no-one seems to want to _buy_ my soul, I'll settle for slashing them. I _do_ own Michelle and Caroline.  
Author's Note: If there's any other pairings you'd like to see, tell me. Ask and you shall receive…provided they don't interfere too badly with my plot (such as it is). I can pair Kenny up with more or less anyone and I have no problems about having Stan and Wendy break up, but I am _not_ splitting up Pip and Damien. And I'm flexible on the subject of pairing Kyle and Christophe up with others, but remember – that means it'll take longer to get to the C/K action**

**Chapter 3 - Tout le même**

The four boys waited at the bus stop every morning, much as they had since third grade. When Kyle arrived at the bus stop the next morning, events didn't deviate from their established pattern. Cartman made some obnoxious comment that triggered an argument with Kyle, Stan tried vainly to keep the peace, and Kenny's perverted commentary twisted everything any of them said. The bus trundled to a halt at the bus stop, and they climbed aboard.

"Take a seat quickly, please!" the bus driver said cheerfully. She had taken over three years earlier when Ms Crabtree retired.

"It's just not the same," Stan said morosely as they sat down. The other boys nodded – they had never imagined before that they would miss Ms Crabtree's foul-tempered screeches.

They took their usual seats, much as they had for years before. Cartman took up an entire seat by himself. Kyle and Kenny, being the smallest of the four, fitted onto the seat behind him with plenty of room to spare. Stan sat across the aisle from them, keeping the window seat for Wendy. Kyle spoke to Stan while he could, knowing his friend would be distracted when Wendy got on.

The bus filled up as they drew closer to the school. Most of the older students drove to school, but the boys had become so used to getting the bus that it hadn't occurred to them to stop. Kyle sighed in resignation as Wendy got on and turned his attention to Kenny, who was staring gloomily out of the window.

"What's wrong?" Kyle asked.  
"I split up with Michelle last night."  
_Ah, so that was her name_: "Sorry."  
"It's okay," Kenny shrugged. Sometimes Kyle envied Kenny's outlook on life. Perhaps it was because of his unfortunate circumstances that Kenny didn't waste time worrying about things he couldn't change. He took life as it came and coped as best he could.

Things had been better for Kenny's family since his father died of alcohol poisoning three years earlier. His older brother left home shortly afterwards, and with two less mouths to feed and the majority of their money no longer going on booze, they had a lot more money to spend on things like food. Mrs McKormick had sworn off alcohol after her husband's death and finally gotten a job – leaving Kenny to try to keep the house in order and look after his little sister Caroline, who had been three years old at the time. Kyle smiled. Carrie was six now, and very cute. She had the same bright blue eyes as Kenny, but had inherited their mother's red hair. She smiled a lot – especially around Kenny, who loved the little girl and spoiled her outrageously.

"Hello? Earth calling Kyle!"

Kyle blinked at Kenny, who was waving a hand in front of his face; "What?"  
"You spaced out, man. Again. Who's this week's crush? Frenchy?"  
"Kenny, you have an unspeakably filthy mind. Of course not."  
"What were you thinking about, then?"  
Kyle hesitated, aware of how incredibly wrong it would sound to say 'your sister'; "Um…nothing," he said eventually.  
"Thought so," Kenny smirked.  
"Oh, shut up."

It took an hour for the bus to get to the school, but no-one really minded. Most people talked to their friends, did their homework, or caught up on their sleep. In their group, it was a combination of the three: Stan was desperately trying to finish his history homework, while Wendy and Cartman bickered over his head. Kenny had dozed off with his head on Kyle's shoulder. There were none of the cries of 'fag' anyone else would have got; because Kyle was too used to Cartman's taunts to even notice, and Kenny would cheerfully agree, leaving them completely bewildered.

Kyle prodded Kenny awake as the clapped-out old bus rattled to a halt outside the school, and Stan finished his homework with a flourish before stuffing it into his bag. Wendy and Cartman continued their argument all the way up to the school and along the corridor.

Their first class that day was math, and their distribution throughout the various classes followed its usual pattern. Kyle and Wendy were in the top class, as they were for just about everything else. Kenny was in the bottom class - not because he was stupid, but because of his tendency to sleep through lessons, not do his homework, and skip school when he got bored. Cartman was in the same class for similar reasons…with a dose of common stupidity thrown in. Stan, as in just about everything else, was average - floating somewhere in the middle.

Kenny could have been in a higher class than Stan if he tried. He found this funny.

This pattern persisted in almost all of their subjects (With the exception of history, which Cartman inexplicably excelled at). As such, it was only really at lunch they got the chance to talk.

Sometimes Kyle thought that life in South Park was far too predictable. He could always say with a fair degree of accuracy what he would be doing at any given time in the next week…which was rather depressing. Setting aside a day or two for their periodic misadventures, of course. Before he even entered the lunch hall, he knew exactly what his friends would be doing. Stan and Wendy would be doing 'cute' couple-y things. Kenny was single again, so he would be keeping up a running commentary on any hot people that passed their table. Cartman would be waiting for Kyle, preparing his insults.

As he sat down and exactly that happened, Kyle prodded at his lunch and prayed for change.

_Tout le même_ – All the same


	4. L'Incident de Signal D'Incendie

**L'amour**

**Summary: The new student at South Park High is strangely familiar…  
Fandom: South Park  
Pairings: Christophe/Kyle, Stan/Wendy, Damien/Pip, Kenny/Various (He's such a slut)  
Warnings: Slash, bad language  
Disclaimer: I'd sell my soul to own them (Especially Christophe – damn that sexy French accent!). However, since no-one seems to want to _buy_ my soul, I'll settle for slashing them. I _do_ own Michelle and Caroline.  
Author's Note: When your muse deserts you, turn to real life for inspiration. The Fire Alarm Incident really happened at my school, and we had about twelve within a week. The guys who did it was nearly expelled when they caught him.**

**  
Me:- Thank you to my wonderful reviewers. I love you all  
Tweek:- All these people telling us to update, man! Gah! Way too much pressure!**

**Chapter 4 – L'Incident De Signal D'Incendie  
**

"C'mon," Stan said wearily, "Bell's about to go – we'd better get to class." Reluctantly, the others got ready to leave. A bell rang shrilly in the distance…and kept on ringing.  
"A fire alarm?" Wendy frowned.  
"Sweet," Cartman grinned, high-five-ing Kenny.

Chattering excitedly, the student body made its way _en masse_ to the car park as the fire alarms continued wailing. People took the opportunity to talk to their friends for a while longer, and bitch about how cold it was. At least it wasn't raining like the day before.

"Is that Bebe?" Kyle said, peering over the sea of heads; "She looks like she's been crying."  
"What?" Wendy stood on tiptoe to see, and a look of worry passed over her face; "I'd better go see what's wrong." She slipped between two laughing sophomore girls and disappeared.  
"Didn't you go out with Bebe?" Stan asked Kenny. Kenny nodded.  
"Yeah, last month…before Michelle."  
"Come on," Cartman snorted, "Name me five people in the school Kenny _hasn't_ gone out with."  
"Point taken," Kenny said cheerfully.  
"I'm serious – pick any random person, and odds on they're one of Kenny's exes."

"Alright," Stan said, looking around the crowd and picking people out, "Red?"  
"Yeah."  
"Butters?"  
Embarrassed cough: "Yeah."  
"Damien?"  
"Uh…kind of. Long story."  
"Timmy?"  
"Sick, dude! Hell no!"

"Seriously, though," Kyle broke in, "Apart from that, is there anyone out here you wouldn't do?"  
"Freshers," Kenny said, "I'm not a total sicko. And probably not any of you guys – too awkward after, y'know?"  
"Cartman, you look disappointed," Stan smirked.  
"Dude," Cartman said, a pained expression on his face; "I'm the only straight one here. I mean, everyone knows about Kenny…and you'd be all over Jew-boy if your little girlfriend wouldn't kick your ass."  
"Shut up fat boy!" Stan snapped, punching him on the arm. He looked around for support, but Kenny and Kyle were both laughing.  
"Don't know why you're laughing," Cartman glowered at Kyle; "You're gayer than the rest of them put together."  
"You wish," Kyle replied slyly, blowing him a kiss. Cartman looked murderous as Kenny and Stan howled with laughter.

"Ah, I've had enough of this faggot-fest. Screw you guys, I'm going home…" Of course, he wasn't really. But it was something of a catchphrase of his, and changing it would be unthinkable. So he wandered off to talk to Craig and Clyde.

It was at that moment Wendy reappeared. She grabbed Kenny and hissed; 'we need to talk' in his ear. He shrugged at the others and followed her away. Kyle and Stan stood in silence for a while before deciding to circulate. They wandered around, greeting assorted people in passing.

"'Ello, _cheri_." Christophe had taken the opportunity to light another cigarette, the smoke drifting a little in the light breeze.  
"Hey," Kyle said casually, fighting the overpowering urge to blush or run away. By some feat of inhuman self control, he kept up the lazy amble he had previously been moving at. It wasn't until they had moved on a bit that he realised Stan was looking at him strangely.

"What?"  
"Do you have a crush on him or something, man?"  
"No!"  
"It's not like it matters if you do," Stan shrugged, "Nobody cares. Damien and Pip don't get any hassle."  
"Dude, that's cause everyone knows Damien would kill them. Literally."  
"So?"

Kyle glared at his shoes, silently cursing the world in general. He had almost managed to convince himself he was normal when Christophe 'ze Mole' DeLorne had waltzed back into his life.

"WHAT!"

Everyone within twenty yards turned at the horrified cry, and saw Wendy talking very fast to Kenny, who had turned white as a sheet. Kyle and Stan exchanged puzzled glances, and elbowed their way through the crowd.

"C'mon, friends coming through."  
"Hey Kenny, what's wrong?"

Kenny looked appealingly at Wendy, who shook her head. He shrugged helplessly at his friends and began gnawing on his knuckle, which he always did when he was nervous. Stan's eyes darted suspiciously between the two of them; Kyle and Wendy rolled their eyes in unison.

Apparently the fire had been a false alarm, so they filed grudgingly back inside for their next class. However, they had barely got back inside when it went off again. Delighted that they were missing more of their school-time, the chattering mass of students ambled happily back outside. The teachers, on the other hand, were less than pleased. They hurried about, questioning people apparently at random. Of course, everyone pleaded ignorance regardless of whether or not they knew anything, so it really was a waste of time.

"Damn, it's cold out here," Kyle muttered, shivering - he'd left his jacket inside. He smiled gratefully as Stan slung an arm around his shoulders.  
Kenny sniggered; "You are such a closet case, Marsh."  
"Shut up, Kenny."  
"No chance."  
"What did Wendy want to talk to you about?" Kyle asked curiously. As he had thought, Kenny instantly shut up.  
"I'm going to talk to Cartman," he muttered and turned away, elbowing his way through the crowd. Stan and Kyle stood in silence for a while.  
"He's never gonna tell us," Stan said.  
"Let's go ask Wendy, then."

It took them a while to find Wendy, finally running across her completely by accident on their way back inside after the all-clear was given. They stepped into a side-corridor, out of the rush of people.

"What was it you told Kenny?" Stan said, cutting across any pleasantries.  
Wendy bit her lip; "I don't think I should tell you."  
"Come on," Kyle said, "We're his friends, and it's obviously really bothering him." There was a moment of silence.  
"Okay," she said eventually; "But you have to swear you won't tell anyone."  
"We swear," Kyle said. He elbowed Stan; "_Don't_ we, Stan?"  
"What? Oh…yeah. We swear."  
"Okay," Wendy, about to impart the momentous news, took a deep breath:

"Bebe's pregnant…and Kenny's the father."

L'Incident de Signal D'Incendie - The fire alarm incident

**So now the fic takes a soap-opera turn. I couldn't tell you why, so I'll invoke the tried and true excuse: It Seemed Like a Good Idea At the Time. Bear in mind that reviews are the only payment I get for my hard work, so if you read without reviewing, you're nothing more than a thief! I was a little dubious about posting this one...was it okay?  
**


	5. NOTE: Bad news, readers

I'm sorry, people, but this fic is on hiatus.

I want to continue it, I really do. I spent hours staring at my computer screen, vainly trying to come up with something to write. It didn't work. My muse has deserted me. In fact she slapped me, stole my remaining shreds of inspiration, and swaggered out of the door laughing her ass off.

I'll try to come up with something...  
...But don't hold your breath.

TheSummoningDark


End file.
